


Children of the Lake

by ThreadingStory



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 01:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreadingStory/pseuds/ThreadingStory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For collecting short stories, small moments, figments of could''ve-beens and what-if's. Anything from more or less canon-compliant to completely AU. Figrid.<br/>[cross-posting with FFnet]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tilda Learns Something Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t plan this and I made myself sad

Tilda wasn’t quite as unused to being called a princess as Sigrid, but she knew that her sister was three times the political force she was. So when they all made ready for visiting the Halls of Erebor for something or other that was supposed to strengthen their relations, though they already were brilliant what with her Da slaying the dragon and such (she didn’t like to think of the rest) she couldn’t help but flutter around with nerves.  
It wasn’t special, it wasn’t unusual, they’d been there, they’d talked to the dwarves, they’d celebrated merry feasts that ended with her falling asleep on the table (Bain still teased her), but still. 

Tilda knew she was growing up and she wanted to take at least the slightest bit of responsibility on her shoulders like Da and Sigrid, because she knew how hard they had worked while bringing Bain and her up, or at least she thought she knew. Sigrid had been younger than Tilda was now when their Ma had died and Sigrid had been in charge of taking care of her baby sister, which was really incredible because Tilda didn’t feel like she could take care of a baby any time soon. Thinking that taking some of the responsibilities from her sister’s shoulders would be a good idea, Tilda had decided to learn how she did it.

So when they arrived she made sure to observe what her big sister was doing all the time. How she greeted one dwarf and then the other with respect and a smile, how she talked diplomatically but still very firmly and the dwarves listened, how she laughed at something or other… Tilda frowned. That last bit wasn’t exactly right.  
Sigrid had never been very quick to laugh, much like Da, always too busy and practical for much distraction, but today there was something different about her sister. After a few minutes of observing, she noted the slight downturn of Sigrid’s shoulders and the tiny crease between her eyebrows, how she always seemed to need a moment more to summon a smile. Sigrid looked tired and…and sad. Tilda wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, though, the wine making everyone vivid and instruments being pulled out. 

When the music and dancing was in full swing, she saw her sister quietly leaving through a side door Tilda hadn’t even noticed. Worry and a not so small bit of curiosity had her warring with the part of her that told her she was just imagining things for a split second, then she got up as unnoticeable as possible.

When she opened the door and slipped into the corridor lighted with the glass baubles the dwarves used for decorative lights, she saw Sigrid’s skirts swishing just around a corner. Her instincts as the youngest child who snuck up to the older ones on regular basis taking over, Tilda followed as quickly as she could without making noise.  
After just a short while she found herself panting. Wherever Sigrid was going, she obviously didn’t want anyone to notice she was gone for long, which only spurred Tilda’s imagination into summoning the wildest ideas.

After quite a few corners and stairs, all of them leading downwards, Tilda nearly ran into Sigrid’s back when she rounded the corner, not expecting her to have stopped. Her usually perceptive sister didn’t seem to notice however, too busy staring at a giant double-winged door with runes and ornaments carved into them. From her vantage point Tilda could just make out the stern face of a warrior etched into the stone before glancing back to Sigrid. She was showing signs of feeling nervous, wringing her hands and looking up to the doors and down on her feet in a way Tilda had only ever seen her react to one of the rare times Da’s scolding was directed towards her. Only this was worse, with Sigrid also breathing rather noisily, Tilda thought. Her sister seemed to think so too, because she drew in a sharp breath and squared shoulders like she always did when there was a task to tackle and then opened one half of the door with a mighty push.

Waiting for a few seconds after Sigrid had gone into the mysterious room, Tilda slowly stood in front of the closed part of the door and peeked in. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust, as it was slightly lighter in there, with light from the outside streaming in from a high window like a golden waterfall and torches flickering over stone statues sat upon large cubes.

She found Sigrid’s form kneeling in front of one nearly in the middle, just below the light stream. Her sister's gentle hand reached out and placed a small sprig of lavender and other summer flowers on the cube’s mantle. 

“I brought you flowers,” she said softly, looking up at the statue sitting on the cube, “You said you liked lavender because it kept the bugs at bay.” A strangled laugh that sounded like a sob came from her and Tilda’s stomach clenched with the realisation of the room’s purpose. This was a tomb.

“You also said that flowers are the most precious thing you could ever have given me, because they rarely grow in the mountains, and so your kin holds them in high regard when- when it comes to courting presents.” Tilda’s eyes widened, her mind racing with the implications of what she heard. She had never known Sigrid had been courted at some point, much less by a dwarf! When could this have happened?  
Another strangled sound ripped from her sister’s throat. “But it was too cold for flowers already so I suggested compromising on thistles. You told me I was stupid. Then you kissed me.” Laugh after laugh wrecked through Sigrid, slowly turning to full sobs. 

Her entire body trembling with the force of emotions too great for Tilda too fully comprehend, Sigrid reached out a hand and hit a fist against the stone. “You idiot! You complete and utter-“ She hit again. “You just had to go and fight-“ Her head sagged against where her hand had hit. 

Tilda wasn’t sure she could breathe anymore. Seeing her sister, her big sister who always knew what to do when there was a scraped knee or when Bain wouldn’t stop being a tease shaking like that was something Tilda couldn’t have imagined in her worst nightmare.

“You had to go,” Sigrid continued, much quietly, “Of course you had to. To protect your brother, because that’s what we do, isn’t it? Protecting them, at all costs. I just wish it hadn’t cost so much. I wish you would’ve come back, Fíli, even- even alone.” Her hands covered her face helplessly. “I’m selfish, I know, but I just- I miss you more than I can say.” Her voice broke off with another sob, making her sister behind her wince.

Fíli, she knew that name. Tilda would never forget how the company of dwarves and a hobbit had come out of their toilet, how Kíli had told her stories and made her laugh despite the fact that he was badly hurt and how she had cried when she found out her new friend had died, valiantly in battle, but died nonetheless. She had never known that his older brother and Sigrid had been so connected, so in love even, that it made her sister lose all her strength. Her chest clenched with sadness and she breathed out sharply with her eyes burning. 

At the sound, Sigrid whirled around.

“Tilda! What are you doing here?” 

“I, I followed you.” At the quickly darkening look on Sigrid’s face, she hastened to explain, “I was worried.” 

“You- You shouldn’t have come.” Sigrid quickly wiped away the tears on her cheeks without looking at her sister.

“But you shouldn’t be alone.” Tilda whispered, afraid she might start to cry herself.

“No, I shouldn’t,” Sigrid said with a voice completely foreign to Tilda, her usually bright blue eyes dimly looking at the stone face before her.

This was it, Tilda realised. This was the same weight that her father had carried for so long it was a part of him, now on her sister’s young shoulders. She couldn’t take that weight from her. She couldn’t make anything easier. But she could offer her shoulders to share. So she sat down beside her sister as close as possible, taking her weight as she slightly sagged towards her after a moment’s hesitation and listened while her sister, her brave, strong Sigrid, cried for an equally brave and strong man gone.


	2. In which Fíli Is Smug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for any emotional scarring caused by the last chapter. Though ye might get cavities, ye be warned!

Warm, golden flickers of flames in a fireplace. Incredibly soft sheets surrounding her. Sigrid smiled to herself as she slowly opened her eyes. Waking up in a bed like this was better than any dream. It felt like lying on a cloud. After rubbing her eyes, she contentedly looked around the room instead of getting up. A high ceiling of light stone was illuminated by candles flickering in tinted glass lanterns, lending a cosy atmosphere to Sigrid’s lazy morning. Two ridiculously soft cushioned chairs were placed around a carved table holding crystal glasses, a carafe and a plate with fruits and sweet cakes.

Feeling very hungry all of the sudden, Sigrid reluctantly crawled out of the covers, shivering slightly as her body got used to the slightly cooler air. Although it really couldn’t be said that it was cold, Sigrid thought appreciatively, the fire was still giving off heat, somehow. She would have to ask how they did that.

Popping a few grapes in her mouth, she decided to wash since she already was up. Opening the door to the adjoining bathroom, she couldn’t help but smile and shake her head a little. An entire room just for washing.  
In Laketown, they had had a toilet and a drain for the used water, but washing was still done out of a jug and a bowl. Here, a large basin that could be filled with water dominated the room. Colourful flasks were lined in a shelf together with soft towels, and there were even dried flowers that gave off a nice fragrance.

It was as close to decadent as Sigrid had been her entire life. To her own surprise, she didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest. It was all already here, and she had expressively been told that it was there for her use. Sigrid felt very blessed and she took a moment to thank the Valar from the bottom of her heart. 

Something like this had never happened in even her wildest dreams, where Da had finally gotten the recognition he deserved, and maybe even a woman he could smile at again, and they had all had enough food, even growing Bain, enough to even have leftovers… And here she was, using soap that smelt of summer meadow and something more rich and elegant that made Sigrid feel very distinguished.

She snorted. 

Getting used to being called a Lady was still something she battled with, in her own mind she was still very much the bargeman’s daughter. But in here, with all this surrounding her in a way that felt almost natural, because it was meant for her, and no one else was going to use it, she almost felt like she could be a real Lady. That she was.  
According to a certain someone she had been even when her ancestor’s title and city had still been lost.

Sigrid smiled at the thought of how his blue eyes had shone with sincerity when he had said that. That was what she was most grateful for. That this man with blue eyes and easy smile, with his roaring heart and strength and nobility would look at her and see a Lady. See someone worth of giving his heart to. 

Happiness rushed through her and she couldn’t stop smiling as she wrapped herself in a towel and went back to the bedroom, looking for something to wear. In a heavy wardrobe carved in a way complementing the rest of the furniture, she found her usual dresses joined by some new ones. Raising her eyebrows, Sigrid carefully let the material slip through her fingers. It was milky and shimmery and felt like water softly running down one’s skin on a spring day.

It was a ridiculous waste of money, her dresses would still be perfectly wearable for years. But she knew that the second she brought it up to the culprit, he would just get that look that said he hoped he had gotten her taste right, and when she tried to protest, albeit weakly because she couldn’t resist that look and he knew it, he would drag her to the treasure chambers and tell her to not be so stubborn. He could afford a few knick-knacks without endangering the wealth of his people.

With a fond smile and a bit of an eye roll she took out one of the first dresses she had gotten after the rebuilding of Dale had started. Her father had given it to her on her birthday, something special he had always wanted to give her, and she liked thinking of laughing and dancing in it until she was out of breath.

Sigrid slipped into the soft fabric and the daily battle with the laces began. Her simpler dresses had buttons at the front, but the fact that someone had thought it a good idea to invent dresses with laces at the back was something she struggled with.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” She looked over her shoulder and smiled at the tousled blonde head peeking out from the covers. A blush spread over her face as she remembered that she’d had quite her part in the tousling. 

“Getting ready for the day.”

Her fingers finally found the laces and she began to pull them up. 

“Here, let me help you with that.” His voice was still dark from sleep, but she found she didn’t mind a bit. Warm, rough fingers gently pushed hers aside to pull at the thin material. Sigrid found her face getting even warmer at the intimacy and smiled. She could get used to that. Except he was pulling in the wrong direction. 

“Fíli, wait! You’re opening it.” 

“I know,” his voice was entirely unapologetic and way too smug for her liking. 

“What?” She jerked away and turned around, but he was still holding the laces in his hand. “I’m trying to get dressed, in case you didn’t notice.”

“And I’m trying to prevent that.” His smile was roguish as he winked. Sigrid narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Well, I’m not walking around naked.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” his eyes were positively gleaming. The fact that he was lazily sitting on the bed did make very clear how much exactly he wouldn’t. She had the urge to smack him and fought against a horrid blush at the same time. 

“Maybe you wouldn’t but I’m sure other people might object.”

“Other people?” The look of genuine confusion on his face made him look every bit like Kíli’s brother, despite all their outer differences. Funny that even with piercing blue eyes a puppy look was entirely possible, Sigrid mused. 

“We’re not seeing other people, Sigrid.”

“Apart from the people who, oh, I don’t know, make up the entire population of Erebor?” she gesticulated to the door. Much to her surprise and even a bit wounded pride, the blonde dwarf began to laugh. After a few moments he caught the look on Sigrid’s face though and stopped abruptly. 

“Oh no, please, I don’t mean any harm, my sweetheart.” Fíli said softly, his lips still quirked up. “It’s just- we’re on our Mithrilian Fortnight.” 

“So I was told. A period of time for the couple to get used to living with each other after the wedding,” she recited, with just hint of sharpness in her voice. Sigrid had the nearly infinite amount of patience that came with being an older sister with responsibilities, but she did not take it very well when she was laughed at for no reason. “Sometimes a travel might be involved, but given your duties as Crown Prince that would have been unrealistic, so we stayed in Erebor, in case you were needed.”  
Fíli just looked at her for a few moments, then some kind of epiphany seemed to hit him. 

“They didn’t tell you.” 

While whatever Sigrid had been neglected to be told seemed to amuse him to no end, if the quivering of his moustache was any indication, it also sent a deep blush over his face. Sigrid felt slightly vindicated that she wasn’t the only one who had been embarrassed and uncrossed her arms. “And what, exactly, did they not tell me?” she inquired with raised eyebrows.

“Ah, well,” he cleared his throat and sat up with as much dignity a dwarf in only his night pants could muster. Sigrid found herself momentarily distracted by how the light in the room cast shadows over him in a way that accented his clear-cut muscles very well. One lamp in particular reflected on his shoulder, giving his skin a warm glow and highlighting the golden hair on his chest that led downwards to his stomach muscles and the sharp hip bones and– 

She snapped her eyes up, hoping he hadn’t noticed. The amused and decidedly proud look he gave her indicated otherwise. In a show of uncharacteristic wisdom Fíli however didn’t tease the already irritated woman, though he seemed strangely fond of doing so on other occasions. Instead, he set to explain what had caused her to become irritated in the first place (no thanks to him). 

“The Mithrilian Fortnight is not just to get used to each other as a married couple. I mean we have years of a day-to-day-life to do that.” He smiled softly at her. “Can’t wait for that, actually.” 

Feeling her irritation melt at that, Sigrid found herself smiling back. An idiot he might be, but he was very much her idiot and he made sure to remember her at every occasion.

“But the Mithrilian Fortnight is actually called that because it is a time of focusing entirely on the couple, no routine, no duties, if possible. As far as everyone outside that door is concerned, we don’t exist.” 

Sigrid tilted her head in thought. “That’s an interesting tradition, Odd, but interesting.” Her brows furrowed after a moment. “Why is it called Mithril, though? I mean, we’re not exactly being productive while we’re here?” One of the first things she had learnt about dwarven culture was the high regard they had for hard work. Everyone who didn’t flinch away from getting their hands dirty had it quite a bit easier at winning their respect. So being inactive and likening it to the most precious metal known to, well, everyone, was a bit confusing.

“Who said we’re not?” That roguish smile was back on Fíli’s face and Sigrid felt her stomach lurch. “You know that finding love is considered the highest gift, even above jewels and precious metals, right?” He paused until she nodded. “So we celebrate it as good as we can.” 

“I noticed,” she said dryly, “I’m still surprised Bilbo kept up with all of your brother’s drinking for three days straight.”

He slipped closer to the edge of the bed on his knees, eye to eye with her. “So the wedding celebration already was quite long for human standards, at least the one’s of Laketown. And our courting period of three years and three days was long, too.”  
“Very long,” she agreed softly, not looking away from his warm smile. “I’m glad you agree,” he grinned. His hands slipped under hers, drawing lazy circles on her skin.

“So, with everything being drawn out and celebrated as much as possible, wouldn’t it make sense to,” he cleared his throat, “Wouldn’t it make sense to draw out the time of one wedding night to a fortnight.”

Sigrid blinked. 

Then she blinked again. 

Silence descended upon the room.

Fíli observed her carefully as he waited for her to react. And he waited. And waited.

“Sigrid?” He whispered finally, carefully poking her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head and focused on him again. “Sure. Yes. I was just…” she blushed and cleared her throat. 

His eyebrows climbed so high Sigrid thought they would hit his hairline. “My, my, Princess Sigrid,” he whistled. The title made her realise how very much they were in fact married, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or to smack him. She had a suspicion it wouldn’t be the last time.

“Your mind wouldn’t have gone wandering off to any particular activities?” She blushed and tried to get away from him, but he was quicker. Without any effort his arm shot out, circled her waist and he fell back on the bed with enough momentum to knock some breath out of her.

“Fíli, you-“ She struggled to get away from him, but his arm didn’t budge. 

“Yes, I what?” 

He unceremoniously chucked her off him and had her trapped under his arm in a flash, ignoring her protesting squeak. 

She glared at him, still trying to get her breathing under control. “You, you-“ Her train of thought was interrupted by his hand tracing her arm up to her shoulder. 

“Yes?”

His rough hands held her face and slipped into her hair, tugging her closer. She looked at the way his hair sprawled over his broad shoulders, how his lips curled into an infuriatingly smug grin, how his eyes glinted when they dipped down to her lips-

“You ‘re an ass,” she stated dryly, and before he could react, she kissed him.

Fíli might have been stronger, but Sigrid knew how to have the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Personally I think Bilbo was lucky he didn’t have to keep up with Dwalin or Bombur drinking. Can you imagine? Kíli is quite the light weight in my mind, though he probably wouldn’t appreciate that… He won anyways, so that can’t be held against me.
> 
> Also, the reason Sigrid didn’t know that little detail didn’t really fit into the story, so I’ll explain here:  
> I imagined that one of the dwarven wedding preparations would have been to have a sort of “the talk” with the bride. Bard would have tried (without knowing about the Fortnight, he would find out much, much later, much to Fíli’s horror and Kíli’s amusement) but been cut off with an embarrassed “Seriously, Da, it’s alright” because she had heard enough from all the girls in Laketown. 
> 
> And the dwarven lady who helped her prepare for the traditional stuff might not have mentioned it because Sigrid seemed quite calm and assured about it all… Or because maybe Kíli might have said she already knew about the finer details. Maybe. He might snort into his porridge the first time he sees the happily married couple again, and everyone is left wondering why the happy new husband so clumsily dropped tea in his brother’s lap… Ah yes, happy families.


	3. Do I Know You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of Reincarnation AU drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is veeeery short. I have ideas for lots of stuff, but I was sick the last week and needed the energy to get back into normal existence mode :D

It’s a horrid rainy day and people push past others without looking each other in the eye as people in the city are wont to do and he is nearly run over by a car that doesn’t deign to turn the lights on even in this flood. He angrily thinks to himself how having a wizard to make the rain go away might actually come in handy.

“If they were useful enough for changing the weather, that is,” he mutters to himself, not acknowledging the strange thought that’s come out of nowhere like always. It’s been like that since he can remember and the less he thinks about having strange random thoughts about wizards or adventures he never was on, the less he’ll worry he’s crazy. 

Forcing the garish red and white umbrella his brother bought him lower to stop the water from spraying on his face, he circumvents a stream of water coming down from the marquise of a shop. He’s already late for an appointment with his Uncle, he doesn’t need the work he put into his hair to run down on his face in small rivulets on to his suit on top of that (also Uncle will kill him if he turns up anything less than immaculate). 

An impact on his shoulders jerks him out of his thoughts. “Oh, sorry.” A clear voice apologises, he can only see soft lips from under where their umbrellas are caught on each other. After a moment of struggling on both parts they spring apart and the momentum dips the umbrella far enough for him to see a fine impish nose and big eyes and hair like burnished gold before the umbrella is in place again. She throws him an apologetic look over her scarf. “Sorry again.” 

“It’s no trouble,” he says in a voice unfamiliar to his own ears and she quickly looks at him and then she starts moving again, but there’s something utterly wrong about that and why is his heart racing like that-

He can’t breathe. A river seems to be rushing through his ears and he can’t breathe. With sheer willpower he forces himself to function again and the air in his lungs leaves him abruptly. 

“Sigrid.” 

The young woman, barely two steps past him, whirls around with wide eyes, searching frantically until she stops on him. Her disbelief is so blatant he wants to turn around and walk away and pretend he never said something he didn’t know was in his head. But another part shakes him into staying, no, he is not a coward, he will stand through whatever is happening, he will not run.

“What did you just call me?” She takes a tiny step closer, just enough for him to see the agitated light in her blue eyes.

“Si- Sigrid.” The name stumbles out of his mouth this time, he has to physically force himself to say it, this is crazy, what is he even doing-

“There’s only one person who’s ever called me that.” Her voice is shaky in a manner that he just knows is all sorts of wrong. It should be clear and confident, not shaky, not fragile like that. A line is wedged between her delicate eyebrows now, darkening the frantic light in her eyes for a moment. “Do you know who that person is?” she demands to know of him and he’s quite sure he would laugh if there wasn’t that strange squeeze in his chest, because no one, no one ever just demands something from a Donarson. “No,” he admits with a tightening of the squeezing, not being able to look away from her eyes, those sea on a stormy day eyes.

She sighs, “Me neither. I always wake up before I see…” They don’t move, just gazing at each other in search of something that has to be there, an explanation for that strange understanding he can see reflected in her eyes and-

“Victoria!”

She flinches, he takes a step back, it’s broken, this, that moment or whatever they just had. There’s a tall woman beside her suddenly, shaking her red-haired head. ”Vic, where were you? I- Oh!” She looks between them, a small smile appearing on her lips. “And who is that?” Her tone and arched eyebrows clearly implicate there’s teasing to come for the shorter woman, if the blush blossoming on her cheeks isn’t enough indication. He’s not sure why that makes a warm feeling emerge in his chest.   
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” The light tone slightly shakes him out of his stupor, but not enough to answer quickly.

“Fíli.” 

His attention snaps back to her. 

“His name’s Fíli.” She looks surprised at herself, like someone who just remembered something very important and isn’t quite sure how they forgot something important like that in the first place. Her eyes don’t look like stormy sea, he realises, it’s sun on a lake. He opens his mouth to correct her, that’s not actually his name, but, but he called her Sigrid earlier and it’s just so right on his tongue and he can feel something actually shift in himself and snap back into place even though he never knew it was askew in the first place. “Yes,” he finds himself saying in astonishment to Sigrid, “I am Fíli.”

The other woman says something about an event at the place they both work at and he finds himself invited and agreeing to it but he doesn’t look away from that blue gaze, a deep lake reflecting a majestic mountain and as they walk away he clings to the odd feeling of his heart thundering like rocks crashing against each other in a fight of stone giants.

That night, he dreams of swords and forges and the sun rising over the top of a snow-gilded mountain and wakes with the taste of hope on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigrid comes from Old Icelandic/Norse, apparently (I found both and have no idea what the difference might be linguistically, so sorry if it’s wrong ^^°). According to Wiki: Sigrid = Sigr (victory) + fríðr (beautiful)  
> Also, the name „Durin“ (and „Thorin“) are very similar to the many variations of Thor/Tor/Dunar/Donner/Donar, who is the god with the hammer, hence Fíli’s name . A bit cheesy maybe, but I think it fits. 
> 
> Question: What kind of AUs do you get excited about? Sci-fi, college, coffee shop, bookstore, western, super spy, steampunk,…?


	4. Ribbons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't abandon this, I have like a dozen drafts for different scenarios, but I don't know what happened. 
> 
> I watched Botfa this week and wanted to write the feels out with a drabble and this happened? It's veeeery Sigrid-centric with just a bit of Fili at the very end. Sorry. I think. I liked creating background for Sig. She's cool.

 

I.

It was a typical thing. The girls of the town would get together, sewing and gossiping while their mothers did the same. Having to run a household and looking after her siblings rarely let Sigrid have the opportunity to join these meetings, but the few times she did, she unabashedly soaked up the feeling of being a girl. Just talking and laughing and mending clothing.

 

There was red-haired Frigg, with broad shoulders and fingers, surprisingly well-suited for holding delicate needles and full of good humour. Taisha, dark and willowy, brimming with energy and wit, who always had a story up her sleeve from her father’s vast collection from all over Arda. Quiet Adne with observing eyes and calm hands, always taking apart and putting together the clothes with cool precision that made her a helper for the medic.

 

The conversation was lively as always. Taisha had read a new book that she had gotten as a gift from her betrothed, and she liked reading the different people with distinctive voices. After a while however Frigg commented that the book was a wonderful gift, and Taisha sighed happily and started gushing about her love, with the other girls half rolling their eyes and half listening very interestedly.

 

It was in such a conversation that the inevitable question would have to come up.

 

“What about Sigrid?”

 

“Yes, what about her? You’re the only one we haven’t had an opportunity to tease yet,” Taisha turned to Sigrid with a sly smile.

 

Inwardly groaning, Sigrid shrugged non-committally. Taisha loved teasing people, so it was wise to not give her any incentive. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not like the population in this town offers plenty to choose from.”

 

Laughter met her answer, at least Frigg’s and Taisha’s. “Hear, hear! Miss Sigrid has standards! Let us hear them then!”

 

“Well, a minimum of bodily hygiene is a requirement,” Sigrid said drily. “And a healthy dose of common sense.”

 

“How utterly typical!” Frigg exclaimed. “So unromantic.”

 

“Do you not have any dreams of at least a little handsomeness – or at least a steady income?” Taisha chimed in.

 

Sigrid sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Yes, you got me, that is exactly it, Tash.”

 

“But isn’t there anyone who meets these incredibly high standards? What about, say, Adi?” Taisha prodded.

 

“Oh yes, or what about Hana?” Frigg chimed in. “He’s sensible and even clean.”

 

They erupted into giggles while Sigrid rolled her eyes god-naturedly.

 

“What about Adalan?” Adne said suddenly.

 

Sigrid glared at her for the betrayal. Adne just shrugged and watched with amusement as Taisha and Frigg bit onto the idea.

 

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Frigg pondered, “I mean, he certainly knows how to take care of himself. Though it’s a bit much, I think. What do you like, Sigrid?”

 

“She certainly likes his chest. Last time we were at the market, he was heaving chests and got warm and then had to _take off his shirt_.” Taisha intoned dramatically. “And let me tell you, I had to pinch innocent little Sigrid here right out of a dirty daydream so we could go on.”

 

“I was not having a- a dirty daydream!” She protested.

 

“Well, you certainly didn’t mind his shirt being absent. So that’s something you like.” She grinned.

 

“I like you to get done with this because Tilda needs to have something to wear again.” Sigrid nodded at the forgotten needlework on Taisha’s lap with an impish grin, knowing it would drive Tash crazy to think that she was hiding something.

 

Then she dodged questions by quipping as much as she could until Tash threw up her hands and Adne was smirking at both of them, having had the treatment last time and not seeming up to the task of defending anyone, after they had mercilessly grilled her on what exactly the boat captain’s son had said to her the other day on the docks.

 

Taisha wasn’t quite done yet however. “Tell you what Sig, if you manage to find out what type you like, you promise you’ll give us a sign. Just so I can have my peace that you actually know what you want.”

 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sigrid watched as Taisha cut off a bit of nice ribbon of all things and gave it to her despite her protests. “This is one very hare-brained idea of yours, Tash. It doesn’t even make sense. What am I supposed to do with it?” She flapped the fabric about like a lifeless fish. “This is such a waste.”

 

“You could give it to your chosen one as a token, like in the stories,” Taisha fired back without batting a lash.

 

“Or you braid it into his hair,” Adne said drily, “Everyone loves ribbons in their hair.” Even Sigrid couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of lovingly braiding a man’s hair. If other men were half as bad as Da and Bain, they would barely even consider using a brush before rushing off to work.

 

After a while the conversation turned to other topics again, letting Sigrid quietly breathe in relief. It wasn’t that she minded a bit of teasing, but she would prefer it if their combined prowess in wheedling out information out of each other didn’t dig to the point where she couldn’t hide what was in her heart anymore. And truly, it was not because she didn’t trust them with the information, it was just that place of her heart that she rarely ever allowed herself to look into. And as always, she pushed everything back into it and went on.

 

II.

On the way home, Sigrid held her face up into the cool summer night air. What a respite after the day’s unusual heat. The town’s closeness to the lake usually guaranteed cool fresh air, except for the times where no winds would come from anywhere. Then the heat would make the mouldy wood and fish lying out to dry create the most exquisite odour. Loud laughter suddenly pulled Sigrid from her musings. From across the street the lights of the town’s pub where alight, voices floating out and about. Everyone wanted to get their hands on a mug of ale after a hard day’s work, no matter how thin it was.

 

Outside the pub some people milled around, talking casually to passers-by. A figure waved, instinctively making Sigrid want to turn her head to see who they were waving at, then she recognised Jasna, the woman who lived down the street. She was arm in arm with her husband Dalan, a towering man who used to chase Tilda behind Sigrid’s skirts as soon as she spotted him.

 

Embarrassed by her slow reaction, Sigrid hurriedly waved back without stopping to talk. She had no longing for conversation right now, especially not across the stream, in volumes ranging from loud to screaming. The couple waved at her, smiling, and kept walking. Relieved, Sigrid looked away, but not quickly enough to miss the following exchange between the couple.

 

Dalan ducked to lowly say something into Jasna’s ear, making her jump away with a laugh and scratching her ear which he had seemingly tickled. The man smiled back at her, with such a bright and sweet look gracing his rough face that Sigrid felt like she had just stealthily snuck in front of their window to get a look at what went on in their kitchen.

 

A sudden thought sprung into Sigrid’s mind, “Did Ma and Da look like that when they were young? Has Da ever looked liked that?”

 

Quickly looking away, she kept walking focusing on her feet stepping on the firmer wood planks. In her mind, she could see exactly what she tried to push away all the time: her Da holding his arm behind his back when he entered the kitchen, greeting Sigrid with a wink and a finger to the lips, making her keep silent and watch when he snuck up on Ma, tickling her side. Ma whirled around with a shriek, making Da laugh heartily. Sigrid couldn’t remember the words exchanged, but Ma had been fiery and Da had been laughing and at some point he had pulled his arm from behind his back to reveal a single blossom of the brightest red Sigrid had ever seen.

 

Then Ma had gasped and just looked at Da with an expression Sigrid had not understood, but she had thrown her arms around Da and kissed him soundly, which assured Sigrid that it was all well and quite romantic. At that moment, when her Da had dipped Ma and quickly twirled her through the kitchen, the laughter between them their music, Sigrid had known that this was what her future marriage would look like.

 

And there she was again, right at the point that she tried to avoid at all times. Her parents’ marriage had been full of love and laughter and seeing what it had done to Da to lose Ma left Sigrid reeling with the thought of how deep this kind of connection could go.

 

Of course, time had taught her that marriage was not always romantic but rather pragmatic, and yet… How could one bind oneself to another without caring for them? How did one live with each other for years and years like that? It was in the deep places of her heart that Sigrid knew she could never marry someone for the material benefits of marriage. Not even, and she knew how selfish that was, if her family could use the financial gain.

 

She swallowed. It hadn’t ever mattered anyway, until Adalan had started looking at her quite openly whenever they saw each other at the market, which was quite often, as Adalan’s father was a businessman who sold goods from the neighbouring regions. That meant that Adalan could walk around in sturdy clothing and even spare to give away an apple or two to the playing children if he wanted to without having to think twice about it.

 

If Sigrid started to reply to his brazen smiles, she had little doubt she could be comfortably settled within the year. It wasn’t even because she was imagining things. It was more that about two weeks earlier, when she had looked at the playing children happily munching on their gifts (berries this time), that Adalan had told her, “Sigrid, they look happy, don’t they?”

 

And Sigrid couldn’t help but nod. Snot-nosed and in need of a bath in some cases, but decidedly happy about their luck granting them sweet fruits that day.

 

“You know, you could hand out fruit to them as much as you want, one day.” Adalan had said casually.

 

Sigrid’s head had whipped around to him so fast she swore she could hear something crack in her neck.

 

“And, of course, to your own children. You know, one day, sooner or later.” Then he winked at her. “I could provide for them, you know.”

 

“For- for who?”

 

“Our children,” he stated so matter-of-factly that Sigrid felt like she must surely be dreaming. “Just think about it,” he smirked at her, “You know where to find me.”

 

In her entire life of living in Laketown, she had never mastered the distance from the market to her home as quickly as that day. Remembering it, Sigrid kicked the railing beside her. Why? Why out of all the girls in Laketown did Adalan think she should be the one to bear his children?

 

There was nothing fundamentally wrong with Adalan per se, he was healthy looking, well-off and could be charming…except when proposing to someone, apparently. The nerve of him! Sigrid snorted into the night rather indelicately. Was it really too much to ask for a few nice words that didn’t focus on the question of child-bearing?

 

Frigg’s casual question from earlier still rang in her ears. “What do you like, Sigrid?”

 

Sigrid thought she liked people who actually asked her what she wanted, for one. And she liked people who didn’t smirk and wink at her when talking about getting children, especially in hearing range of said little rascals. From then on, the details got a bit…fuzzy.

 

If she was quite honest with herself, there was a lad who worked down at the town dock’s, Ásmarr, who always greeted her with a smile when she was down there to run errands for Da. Ásmarr was tall and wiry and she had heard some people jokingly call him a cat because he had a strange grace that allowed him to climb everywhere in spite of his height. His clear cut nose and jaw gave him a masculine touch that was offset by a pair of brown eyes framed by the darkest, curliest lashes Sigrid had ever seen.

 

She blushed at the thought of how it had even come that she came close enough to see his eyes in such detail. It had been an accident, Sigrid not paying attention, a lose rope holding a heavy sack and Ásmarr pushing her out of the way just in time. With his whole body. Which had pressed the air out of her quite effectively. He had jumped up quickly, helping her up and asking a few times if she was alright, but Sigrid couldn’t quite forget how his face had been hovering over hers for a moment and how his hands had felt on her arms when pulling her up.

 

But that was just a moment, and it meant nothing, right?

 

Though maybe it meant she liked eyes framed by nice lashes?

 

Loud voices pulled her out of her thoughts for a moment. She was nearing the town’s only pub now. People were milling around, talking, and she could hear some music instruments being tuned from inside. Laketown wasn’t the cheeriest of places, but on a summer’s night like this one, not even they could resist a bit of light-hearted cheer.

 

Sigrid let her gaze travel through the window, taking in the sight inside.

 

“It’s quite lively tonight.” She gasped and jumped, only to discover Lér, the pub owner’s son, standing beside her, holding two wooden crates.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he chuckled.

 

“Somehow I don’t believe that,” Sigrid immediately shot back. In a small town like theirs, everyone tended to grow up knowing everyone from around the same age, but that didn’t necessarily mean one talked to each other. Lér was few years older than Sigrid and her Da tended to avoid the pub, so it was surprising that he even talked to her at all. For some reason however, he had started doing so back when they were children and had never stopped.

 

“Need help with that?” she nodded at the weight he was holding.

 

“Nah, I’m fine,” he tried to dissuade her, but Sigrid just cocked her eyebrows and gently lifted the upper one that was merely leaning against his chest as he was grasping the lower one with his hands.

 

Lér sighed. “I swear, my Mum says your Da is the most stubborn man in this town, but she doesn’t know you.”

 

“Are you calling me a man?” Sigrid grinned at him.

 

“Never.” He said and went past her to round the building’s corner. She could swear he muttered something like “Couldn’t forget if I tried” but what she was to make of that was a mystery, so she simply followed Lér to the smaller adjoined building that was used as a pantry and barrel cellar of sorts.

 

Rounding the corner, she was met with the view of Lér’s back as he fiddled with the keys. Her thoughts from earlier were still on the surface, and she couldn’t help but compare him to Ásmarr. Lér was actually related to Frigg and his hair had some of that red in it, though it was mostly brown. He was not as tall as Ásmarr and a lot broader in the chest and shoulders. His waist dipped in sharply and lead to down to a, ahem, very nice, well. Sigrid blushed. There was no denying that Lér was a lot more firmly muscled than Ásmarr, that was all, she firmly told herself.

 

Her embarrassing circle of thoughts was broken by Lér finally managing to get the door open, for which Sigrid was thankful. The crate she was holding was actually quite heavy.

 

Lér looked at her when she put the crate next to his. He had a dimple on his left cheek and the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Thanks, Sigrid, I don’t know what I would’ve done without your invaluable help.”

 

“Let something fall and stumble over your feet, probably.”

 

He whistled. “Harsh.” It was a pretty well known fact that Lér had gotten his father’s tendency to clumsily drop things and trip over air. How they maintained a pub was one of the great mysteries of the world Sigrid would probably never resolve.

 

“You know me, always honest.”

 

They kept shooting remarks back and forth in good humour while they packed away the bottles in the crates. Sigrid felt completely at ease at the familiar motions and the presence of a friend. When they finished, Lér pulled out a small cake he had nicked with the intent to eat all by himself and they sat on the crates to enjoy his loot.

 

Munching on her piece of the pastry, Sigrid didn’t quite notice that Lér had grown quiet. Usually he wouldn’t even let food keep him from talking. He was looking at the stars with a slight frown wedged between his eyebrows.

 

She opened her mouth to say something, but he got to it first. “Can I ask you something?”

 

His overt seriousness made Sigrid grow worried for her friend, so she quickly nodded.

 

“If you’re friends with someone and you see that they’re about to make a big mistake, it’s right to warn them, don’t you think?”

 

Sigrid merely nodded, knowing that Lér preferred to have emotional things done and over with and didn’t like being interrupted when he was thinking out loud.

 

“But you know that what you’re going to tell that friend is going to hurt them, even if you’re trying to do the right thing. But if you don’t say anything, they’re going to do the thing and possibly ruin their life forever!” He exclaimed.

 

Sigrid thought about this. If it was bad enough to make Lér this serious, there was definitely someone out there about to maybe not ruin their life, but do something stupid to say the least. “Lér, I can’t tell much about the situation your friend is in – of course, you shouldn’t tell me other people’s secrets. What I can tell you is that if you just rush for it, you will hurt your friend.”

 

“Maybe tell your friend you want to help because you’re worried, you’re not out to hurt them, and that you’re only doing it because of your outsider perspective. And of course you don’t know everything, so you might be mistaken. Also the decision to do or not do something is absolutely you friends and you will respect that. I think then they know you mean well and it might work.”

 

Lér nodded to himself, his lower lip clenched between his teeth. “Alright. That’s what I’ll do then.” He turned so he was facing her completely. “Sigrid, I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to think that I’m meddling, but I’m worried about you and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“Me? This is about me?” She was floored. “What on earth do you think I’m about to do that’s so terrible?”

 

“Well, I don’t want to be mean, but Sigrid, I’m worried. It’s not like you to just get up and get yourself betrothed just like that!”

 

“What?” Sigrid blinked.

 

“And no one less than Adalan, too!”

 

“What?!”

 

“He’s not a bad lad, but Sigrid, if you’ll forgive me, you could do better than that arrogant, entitled-“

 

“I thought you said he wasn’t bad.” She heard herself say while her mind raced to comprehend the words that were coming out of Lér’s mouth.

 

Lér blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that, promise. I just think you deserve to be with someone who actually likes someone else than himself. And I just keep thinking that you know that too. And you wouldn’t just get betrothed to him like that.”

 

“I didn’t get betrothed to him just like that. No, wait, I mean, I didn’t get-“

 

“And I know why!” Lér exclaimed with a mixture of pride at himself and worry that was directed at her that Sigrid forgot what she was thinking.

 

“Uh…” she uttered eloquently.

 

“It’s alright,” Lér said empathically, “You don’t have to explain. I know that it’s always been hard on your family after your Ma passed, and what with everyone still talking about the stupid thing with your ancestor anyway. It’s nothing to be ashamed of when times aren’t easy. So I figured it out.”

 

Sigrid’s head was spinning.

 

“But you don’t have to marry Adalan for your sibling’s sake, Sigrid. I know you don’t like him like that.”

 

“Lér-“

 

“So I thought, since he only asked because he wants you to bear his children, you should have another option.” He took a deep breath and blushed a bit. “You could marry me.”

 

Sigrid stared.

 

“Sigrid?” Lér regarded her worriedly when she didn’t react. “I know I’m not as fancy or travelled as him, but I have a secure income just like him. And, and you could just go down the street for everything your siblings need.”

 

“Lér-“

“And we’ve been friends forever, so we would get married to people we like, which is more than can be said for a lot of people. I promise I’d be a good husband to you. I’d take care of you, if you wanted, that is, and I’d do my best to be a good brother-in-law to Bain and Tilda and-“

 

“Lér.”

 

“And if we ever have children – which we don’t have to, mind you – I’d be there for them and you, and they’d always be cared for, people always want something to drink or eat, so the pub’s not going away any time soon-“

 

“Lér!” Her shout finally cut him off and he looked at her with wide eyes.

 

“Uhm.” Sigrid managed. Where did Lér get that idea? What was going on? “Lér, that’s very nice to offer, thank you.” Always be polite when people offered something, at least one thing that she could manage to do right now. “But, uh, I’m not sure how to put this? I am not betrothed to Adalan?”

 

Lér’s mouth fell open. “You’re not?”

 

“No?” Wait, that wasn’t a question. Sigrid cleared her throat. “No.” she said firmly.

 

“But he says you are.”

 

“What?”

 

“He just came in today and was all smug, saying how he knew you couldn’t resist for long, and that- oh.” He blushed from his neck to his hairline.

 

Sigrid waited while sorted his words out.

 

“He said that your wedding night would be reason enough for you to- well, anyway, I kind of lost it at the way he was talking about you and I wanted to help.” He was staring at his shoes with a miserable expression.

 

Something deep in her belly snapped and Sigrid gurgled. After a moment of struggling, she let go and let the laughter bubble up. It was the kind of half-hysterical laughter of pure disbelief. She quickly bit her lip, but Lér looked up at her with embarrassment anyway. Sigrid managed reign herself in somewhat.

 

“Oh no, I’m sorry, Lér. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. Just the thought that Adalan is so incredibly sure that I’m going to fall for him when all that he did was insinuate how great I’m going to be at bearing his spawn- Goodness, I never realised how self-involved he is!” She shook her head and smiled at Lér, who still looked quite chagrined, even though his lips were slightly curling up again.

 

“But thank you for trying to help. I really appreciate it. That was quite the offer to make to save a friend from marriage. I am very lucky to have such a loyal friend.” She said honestly. To think what would have been if this had been real! Yes, she was very lucky to have friend who was willing to go this far.

 

“’S no trouble,” he muttered, looking at his shoes with a small smile of pride. “I thought about it and I didn’t see why it shouldn’t work between us. Compared to that spiv, anyway.”

 

Sigrid didn’t bother to chide him this time for his choice of words and just rolled her eyes. “Yes, very romantic, Lér. The next time you propose to someone, you might want to go for something else than ‘I’m better than the other one’. And perhaps not in the shed.”

 

He grinned at her then. “Will do. Ah, goodness, I’m so glad you’re not marrying anyone, Sigrid.” He blinked. “I mean, I would be glad if you did, but not him. Or me-“

 

Sigrid snorted. They looked at each other. After a moment, her lips twitched and he gurgled and then they were laughing. It was loud and hysterical, getting rid of whatever tension had been left. Sigrid was positively cackling and Lér desperately thumped his crate to reign in his flailing limbs. Whenever they looked at each other, one of them would start again and the other couldn’t try to stop anymore either. After several minutes, they finally managed when Sigrid pushed Lér’s face into the other direction and looked at the paint peeling off the shed.

 

“I can’t believe this,” Lér wheezed.

 

“Me neither.” Sigrid wiped away the tears from her eyes. “Especially that Adalan would just go and tell stories like that to people.”

 

A thought occurred to her.

 

“Has anyone else heard of this?” Might as well be prepared for more conversations like this. Wait- had the girl’s interest earlier today been because they thought she was hiding something and not just because it was her turn? Inwardly groaning, she made a mental note to dissuade any ideas they might have as soon as possible.

 

“Try who hasn’t, really.”

 

Sigrid groaned out loud this time. “I hope Da hasn’t yet.”

 

“Don’t think so. Adalan’s still alive, isn’t he?” Lér bumped her with his shoulder, or at least tried to, but he misjudged the distance between their crates and nearly planted his face on the ground, toppling down from his seat.

 

Lér raised his finger before she could react. “Don’t. Just don’t say anything.”

 

Without a word, Sigrid rose and held out her hand to him.

 

“Don’t you need to go back to work?”

 

He grimaced. “You’re such an older sister.”

 

“Reason why it wouldn’t work between us, I’d say.” She quipped and he pinched her nose.

 

“You’re Sigrid, and that’s enough reason that it would.” He said quite seriously.

 

Sigrid didn’t know what to say, so she awkwardly moved her head in a gesture that could have been a yes as well as a no and looked ahead to where they were going.

 

“Oh look, there’s Madani!” she said with some relief.

 

As expected, Lér’s gaze snapped up to the curly-haired young man leaning against the wall of the pub. In the lantern’s light Madani’s skin looked like umber, reflecting the light with a warm shine, and his hearty laughter rang through the night. Lér turned to her with a questioning glance.

 

“Go on. I’m on my home anyway.”

 

She wondered if Lér was even aware that he probably would never be happy being married to her, not because she was Sigrid, but because she wasn’t Madani.

 

He shot her a grin and dashed away, throwing a “Bye, Siggi!” over his shoulder.

 

“Don’t call me that!” she shouted after him, but it was hopeless, as always.

 

She waved to Madani, who had looked up at the sound of Lér’s voice, and went on her way.

 

Stuffing her hands in her skirt’s pockets out of habit, Sigrid nearly jumped when her fingers brushed something unexpectedly. After a split second she laughed at her own stupidity and closed her fingers around the delicate ribbon.

 

Well, she didn’t have a type that she could tell the girls about, but a proposal would make an even better story, that much was sure.

 

III. 

It wasn’t until months later that the small piece of cloth even entered her mind again. It had been a whirlwind of events that day, what with no less than thirteen people entering their house through their toilet. It was absolutely disgusting and Sigrid had had her hands full with trying to get the filth out of everyone’s clothes and the house (she had just cleaned yesterday!). Luckily the dwarves had turned out to be quite amiable houseguests who did their share of housework without complaining. She hadn’t even asked them to do anything.

 

Now she was standing on a stool, trying to reach a box that stored all the small knickknacks one needed for sewing. The journey had been rough on their guests and what little clothes they still had on their bodies desperately needed mending. With a huff she noticed that Da must have been looking for something again because the box was pushed back a bit, just out of reach. Standing on her toes, she still struggled to reach the handle so she could pull it towards her.

 

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Sigrid nearly toppled over in surprise, but managed to ungracefully keep her balance. There was a dwarf standing in the door, the blond one, looking slightly uncomfortable.

 

“My apologies, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said. His voice was deep, as it was for most of the dwarves, and he stood straight and proud just outside the threshold leading into the bedroom. He filled out nearly the whole frame with the width of his shoulders. She didn’t tell him that she wasn’t a lady.

 

“No apologies needed, that would have happened anyway. I’m just not as tall as Da.” She made a flustered gesture to the box. “Bofur needs to mend his shirt- or Bombur? Sorry.”

 

“Bombur is the largest of us.” He said amiably. “It’s a great many names to learn in less than a few hours.”

 

“Then it was Bofur.” Sigrid smiled at him and turned to reach for the box again. “I’m afraid it’ll take a while till he gets it though.”

 

“May I help?” He moved as if to come closer but did not pass the threshold.

 

Sigrid was just about to point out that he wasn’t exactly taller than her when her brain caught with her mouth and she managed to transform whatever she had been about to say to a very armed dwarf into a noncommittal vague noise.

 

He very carefully stepped into the small room. His presence was very… she was very aware of it. The leader of the company, the dark haired dwarf called Thorin, had a similar presence, but it was sharper, more commanding. This one’s was softened by the impish quirk in the corner of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes.

 

Sigrid didn’t have time to analyse the similarities or lack thereof further as she suddenly found herself in the air. Firm, surprisingly large hands were on her hips, lifting her towards the shelf. Startled, she reached for the box and barely managed to grab it before she went down again. She turned to thank him for his help, unorthodox as it was, misjudged the distance between them and knocked the box into him. The momentum sent the lid off and the contents to the ground. For a moment they stared at it.

 

Then, without a word or even one of the annoyed huffs the dwarves seemed so fond of, he knelt down and began picking everything up. Without putting distance between them beforehand. Sigrid stared at the crown of his head nearly brushing her knees. His hair was tangled and dirty, with the braids in it still keeping together, and it was brilliant shades of wheat and gold and honey.

 

“I came to ask whether you have some more bandages available,” he said as he scooped up buttons with deft fingers, “I’m afraid Ori cut his finger trying to help cook and Dori is making a fuss about blood poisoning.” He seemed quite amused by this.

 

“Oh, yes, of course.” Sigrid cleared her throat. “There should be some in the kitchen shelf right next to the oven. In a green pot.”

 

He put the buttons into the box she was still holding. For a moment he looked up at her. His eyes were framed by dark lashes, offsetting the cornflower blue in them. She could see the muscles of his neck and shoulders move when he looked back down. Sigrid swallowed for whatever reason.

 

Buttons, needles, yarn, one after another, the contents of the box returned, until finally he nodded. “All there.” He made to get up but stopped abruptly to lean down. His hand landed just beside her foot and when he reached up to hand it to her his wrist brushed the fabric of her dress just a bit.

 

“There you go.” He said softly and gave her the ribbon. With a polite nod he stood. “I’ll fetch Ori a bandage then.”

 

“Wait.” Sigrid called and nearly winced when it came out quite a bit more imperative than she’d planned to.

 

With that centered calm way of moving he seemed to have, he turned around and cocked his eyebrow, his lips quirking just so at the corner of his lips.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

He smiled. “Fíli.”

 

He had dimples.

 

And as he walked out of the room, Sigrid’s grip on the ribbon tightened and one thought was very dominant in her mind.

 

_Oh, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Sigrid, hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave, eh?
> 
> Sorry for the cursing, but some moments in life warrant the use of expletives.

**Author's Note:**

> In LOTR, the grave shown in Moria is actually very simple, but I thought that the dwarves wouldn’t make stone graves a simple affair. Their craftsmanship would be a way to honour the dead and remember them.  
> Also the timeline for this one would be not even a few years after BoFA, with Tilda only just starting to grow up. Sigrid would have been so busy with fighting for her people’s survival and building up a city at her father’s side that she barely ever let herself think of the past, no to mention grieve. Just burying herself in work and responsibilities, much like her father… Ok, ok, I’m stopping, I’m just making myself sadder and sadder


End file.
